Monthly Archives: January 2012

No, this isn’t going to be another assault on the Kardashians and why they are ruining the world.

(They do, in fact, need to be punched repeatedly. But that’s not my focus today.)

(And for the record, it’s mostly Kim. The other ones could be very nice people for all I know. )

(I guess she could be a nice person too. But anyone who’s rotten enough to spend 20 grand on a WEDDING CAKE deserves a swift kick in the rear, at least, regardless of disposition.)

Argh. Okay. This post is not about the Kardashians. It’s about the “Human Barbie.” Yes, you read that correctly, apparently there really is a person idiotic enough to spend NEARLY ONE MILLIONS DOLLARS on plastic surgery in a (completely fruitless) attempt at looking like every young girl’s favorite self-esteem-destroyer.

Have you folks heard of this dummy? Here’s her page. Please, feel free. Take a moment. Form your opinion. It won’t take long.

Now, I have a lot of not-so-nice things to say about this woman. But that would likely lead to a rant on how we need to stop glamorizing these people and giving them money and that will probably lead me right back to the damn Kardashians. And I’m not doing that again tonight. In addition, she’s 51 years old and free to mutilate herself as much as she’d like. Keep going until you turn into a white, female version of Michael Jackson. See if I care.

No, my problem with this whacko stems from the Christmas gift she gave her daughter. Who is seven. SEVEN. For those of you curious, but not curious enough to click the link, the gift in question is a voucher. Which is a pretty shitty gift for a seven-year-old in itself, come to think of it, but the real issue lies with what the voucher is for. Which is — wait for it — $11,000 in liposuction, to be used at a later date. Because, and I quote, “She asks for surgery all the time. She wants to look good and liposuction is one of those procedures that will always come in handy.”

Let’s break that down, shall we? First, I mean, of course she asks for surgery all the time. Of course she does! I know when I was seven, plastic surgery was all I could concentrate on. I sure wasn’t thinking about my Cabbage Patch Kids or gum or getting the brush my friend Becca got stuck in my hair out without telling my mom. My main concern on a daily basis was obviously, “Gosh, my only hope is that when I’m super old, like 18, and get fat and lumpy like Mommy says I will, I will be able to afford liposuction.”

Second, “Liposuction is one of those procedures that will always come in handy.” While I’ve definitely thought this in my adult life, (Thanksgiving ’07 comes to mind, as well as that time I saw pictures of myself from Halloween and thought, Hmm. So THAT’s what I would look like if I actually managed to eat myself,) there’s not one reason in the world a seven-year-old child should. Also, you know what else might “come in handy?” 11 grand towards a fucking college education, you stupid woman. Or, in your case, it’s likely best used towards therapy to undo all of the damage you’re inflicting on young Poppy.

It’s really not funny at all. This woman obviously has some major problems and could do with a healthy bout of therapy herself. But this poor little girl – how much of a chance does she have for a healthy image of herself, in any respect, as she gets older? She’s just being set up for a lifetime of unhappiness and continuously striving for the impossible.

And don’t today’s girls have enough to deal with? Shit, adolescence was a nightmare for me, and that was (way) before Britney and her little schoolgirl uniform made it just that much harder for everyone. (In retrospect, being an acne-riddled, glasses-wearing, braces-having tuba player with a perm did me no favors, but my point remains the same.)

Maybe Poppy has some other support system in the form of a family friend or sister or aunt who is not batshit insane. I hope she does. I hope that this little girl manages to not turn into the freak show her mother is and she develops some self-worth from something other than her looks.

Most of all, I hope when she turns 18 and can use those vouchers, she looks at her mother, rips them up, and says proudly, “Fuck you. I’m perfect the way I am.”